Summer's almost gone
by Elyzia
Summary: A series of events forces a 15 year old Dickon to think about the transition between childhood and adulthood and all that comes with it. Finished at last!
1. An afternoon in the garden

**This story serves as a kind of prequel to my story 'My Secret'. I wanted to explore the changing nature of the friendship between Mary, Dickon, and Colin, so decided to write a story based two years after the Secret Garden was discovered. I don't know if this will be a one-shot or will develop into something else, but I thought I'd put it up anyway and let my readers decide if I should leave it here or continue it... anyway, please let me know your thoughts, and happy reading. **

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**Part 1: An afternoon in the Garden**

'Dickon! catch!'

Dickon looked up just in time to see Miss Mary running towards him, a huge grin on her face. A second later, he felt something small and hard hit him square on the forehead.

'Ow!' he said, sitting up and rubbing his head with his hand, as the young girl hurried to sit down next to him, giggling as she did so. He continued rubbing his head and broke into an annoyed grin. The he couldn't help himself, and began to laugh too.

'You were meant to catch it, silly', she said to him. 'Here, go on then.'

She had picked up a rosy red apple off the ground near his feet and was holding it out to him, making no attempt to hide her mirth.

He smiled too, and turned the ripe fruit in his hands before taking a bite and nodding his approval.

'This is good – tha' hasn't been to the kitchen gardens again, has tha?'

She only smiled slyly, and took a bite out of her own apple.

The laughter of a young man was heard from beyond the walls of the garden.

'Dickon! Mary! are you in here?'

A few seconds later, Dickon saw Colin Craven come pelting around the corner, his arms full of the rosy fruit that Mary had just offered him.

'I only just managed to escape from old Ben Weatherstaff!' he said, grinning and dropping down next to them on the ground. 'But look what I got! spoils of war.'

Dickon grinned.

'I managed to get so much more this time, and he almost caught me.' He placed the apples on the lawn next to the other children before selecting the biggest and juciest one for himself.

'Aye, old Ben has been wonderin' where all tha' fruit has been goin.'

Colin looked up in alarm.

'You wouldn't tell him, would you Dickon?'

'Hmm... I don't know...' He said slowly and thoughtfully, turning the apple over in his hand as if deep in thought. He was playing his part, and he knew it, but a small part of him enjoyed teasing the young boy sitting next to him.

'We did bring you an Apple, Dickon.' Mary pointed out, raising her eyebrow in mock seriousness.

'And I had to brave the perils of the kitchen gardens to get it for you.' Colin added hastily, the look of panic still present in his eyes.

'Well, in that case, I mun be grateful for tha efforts. But don't let old Ben catch tha. I once heard that he tanned the hide off a young man for stealin' off his apple trees.'

He tried to maintain a straight face, but couldn't hold it, after seeing the shocked expressions on the faces of the two young people sitting next to him. He decided it would be wise to change the subject.

'I brought Soot into tha' Garden today. I thought thee would like ta' see him.'

Mary's face broke into a huge smile.

'Oh yes Dickon! yes please.'

'And tha' Colin?' he asked.

'Well... I was hoping you'd bring the Fox cub back, like you did last time. But seeing as you don't have him...' Dickon knew the young boy at the age of twelve thought Fox cubs were far more exciting than Ravens.

'I'll go get him then.'

He walked off a few paces and whistled sharply. A squawk was soon heard, and then the children heard a flutter of wings. Dickon returned with the young raven perched firmly on his shoulder. He was smiling and murmering quietly to the bird as it stood on his shoulder as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Dickon's relaxed, easy-going manner with all animals – and more frequently with people – was evident.

Mary was the first to express her delight at seeing the bird.

'Oh Dickon! can I hold him, please?'

'Of course tha can, Miss Mary.'

He gently removed the Raven from his shoulder, and passed it over to her, placing Soot on her arm. She looked at Soot with a mixture of wonder and pleasure.

'I wonder if he thinks that we are birds, just like him, Dickon?'

'I don't know, perhaps he does.'

'I wish I was a bird.' she said dreamily, looking at Soot. 'If I were, I could fly anywhere I wanted to.' Dickon noticed her look up at the sky with longing in her blue eyes.

'Let me hold him after you, Mary.' Colin interjected, moving closer so he could stroke the bird. A living, breathing Raven was no fox cub, but it was still exciting.

Dickon remembered something he had been planning to ask the young man.

'I heard tha might be going to live in London, Colin' Dickon queried, as he gently took the bird and passed it over to Colin.

'Oh yes, that. Well Father has begun to make arrangements about it. He said perhaps at the beginning of next year.' The boy seemed non-plussed about it, so Dickon didn't press the matter any further. Colin Craven could be very stoic about some things, Dickon decided. Even at the age of 12, Colin had an air of superiority about him. But that isn't surprising, Dickon mused, given that he had spent almost his whole life telling other people what to do. Still, he genuinely liked the young man, and in the past two years they had become good friends. However, deep down inside, Dickon knew that their friendship wouldn't be able to last forever. He was, after all, merely a working class lad, unlike Colin who had been born into the gentry. As it had been impressed upon him again and again, such friendhips would never work.

Miss Mary was also a good friend of his, and someone he knew he could trust. He looked at the girl standing in front of him – still small for her twelve years and thought back to when they had first met, when she had been a sickly, spoilt girl. She still has that streak in her, he mused, but she cannot be called 'spoilt' now. More strong willed, than anything else. He watched her laugh as Soot moved down Colin's arm, frightening the boy. She is lovely when she smiles, he thought to himself.

'Ow! Dickon! I think he's about to peck me!' Colin yelled, breaking Dickon's thoughts.

'He only wants tha to feed him. Here.' Dickon reached out and took the young bird from Colin, then reached into his pocket and found a crust of bread for the Raven to nibble on.

Mary reached up and took the crust of bread from Dickon and held it out for Soot. Soot reached down and pecked it, making Mary flinch slightly.

'Just calmly, Miss Mary. He's not going t' hurt tha.'

She stood steadily after that, and fed the bird the rest of the bread. The stood together, side by side, Colin having wandered off to inspect the spoils of the afternoon.

The sun shone brightly on the garden, and Dickon felt it warm his skin through his loose shirt. _If only things could be like this always_, he thought. He had been thinking a lot recently, about his friendship with the other children as they began to deviate away from childhood. Although only fourteen years old, Dickon could feel the responsibilities of adulthood were only just around the corner – and it frightened him. He had seen his older siblings go from being carefree children to adults weighed down with the obligations that came with it, and he didn't feel ready to make the transition into adulthood yet. More than anything, he wished that he could spend the remainder of his days on the Moor, free to roam and explore – with his Mother's cottage to come home to, and the Secret Garden to tend and enjoy. He pushed the thought of growing up from his mind. Surely it would be a few years before he had to worry about anything, he thought, before turning his attention back to his friends.


	2. The cold breath of winter

**Thanks heaps to those people who have reviewed this story so far... you guys encouraged me to put up a second chapter. Anyway, here it is. This chapter just naturally seemed to revolve more around Dickon and his thoughts, I don't know if I'll base this story around any one character, but it just seemed to happen in this chapter. Anyway, the theme is still that of the transition between childhood and adulthood - and this is seen in the changes that are happening in Dickon's life. I may choose to focus on Mary and Colin's thoughts in subsequent chapters (if I get around to writing them, lol), but for now this chapter belongs to Dickon. Poor Dickon, 15 is a hard age, isn't it? but I'm sure he'll get through it! BTW, any feedback as to how I'm developing any of the characters will be appreciated! thanks guys, and now, on to chapter 2... Oh yeah, and this is a bit of long chapter, so bear with me!  
**

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**Part 2 – The cold breath of Winter.**

Dickon couldn't remember when he had last felt this cold.

He shivered inside his woolen clothes and rubbed his hands together, in a futile effort to warm them. It had been snowing overnight, and he had awoke that morning to a winter wonderland outside the cottage. The inside of the cottage was still warm – kept that way by the density of souls that lived within it's brick walls, and the fireplace that was kept banked almost all winter. He had been shocked to come outside and discover that it had been snowing overnight. It didn't seem the right time of year for snow, not just yet.

Dickon thought back to that sunny day he had passed within the walls of the secret garden, with Mary and Colin (and their cache of stolen apples) Surely it couldn't have only been three months ago? he hadn't felt then that summer was waning, but now he couldn't imagine sitting in the garden under the shade of the trees. Only the bitter cold filled his mind, and his heart, chilling him to the bone.

He had awoke almost begrudgingly that morning, which was unlike him. Usually he was one of the first people to rise, always glad to be awake enjoying the fresh taste of the morning air, and the stillness and quiet that it brought to the land. However, this morning he had been deep in sleep – and warm within his bed. He had been dreaming a most beautiful dream – he couldn't quite remember what it had been about, only that it had left him feeling restless and ... wanting of something. He had remained in that twilight period for some time, hoping to recapture the essence of the dream – or fall back into it as was sometimes possible, but he had remained in a state of restless unease. At length he had rose, and pulled his shirt on over his body. There were tasks that had to be done around the cottage, such as the tending of the livestock. This being Dickon's responsibility, as he was one of the oldest children still living at home.

His mother had been up when he finally rose. It wasn't unusual for her to get up early. Susan Sowerby was a busy woman, and Dickon wondered if she enjoyed the quiet and peace of the early mornings as much as he did.

'Dickon, can tha' make sure tha' milks the goat?' she had asked him as he entered the warm kitchen. 'tis been a few days now.'

'Aye Mother.'

'And make sure tha' remembers to go up t' th' Manor today. Master Craven was speaking of needing an extra pair of hands around th' kitchen gardens.' she looked seriously at him. 'and we could do with th' money, lad.'

He had forgotten about that, and all of a sudden it came back to him. He had a good relationship with Lord Craven, master of Misselthwaite, and his skills in the Secret garden hadn't gone unnoticed. An under-gardener was required as Ben Weatherstaff was getting older and his rhuematics had been playing up. Dickon knew this, for Ben was often complaining of his aches and pains, and everyone knew it would only be a matter of time before he let his pride go, and got a younger man to help him. Dickon knew that it would be a wonderful opportunity for him – and for his family. Opportunities like these were rarely available to young men like him.

'Ah Nancy,' he said softly to the Goat, as he milked her. 'Tis not a day to be out in this weather, eh girl.' He spoke gently to the Goat and she turned around to nuzzle his hand. When he was finished he gave her a quick scratch on the back of her neck and headed inside with the milk. When he got in, a couple of the younger children had got up, and were standing, bleary eyed, around the fireplace. The mouth-watering smell of porridge was coming from the kitchen, and Dickon felt a pang of hunger, and the overwhelming urge to tuck into a bowl of hot porridge, complete with sugar and warm milk.

Susan Sowerby, as if reading the young man's mind, walked over to him with a steaming bowl of porridge, a few moments later.

'Get this into tha' my lad.' she said, a smile on her kind face. 'tha' will need it t' brave the elements out there.'

He took the bowl eagerly.

'And here', she said 'don't let any of the wean see', and she took a small sachet of sugar and sprinkled some on Dickon's porridge, smiling secretly to him as she did so.

'Ah Mother!' he explained. 'Tha does look after me.'

He ate his porridge ravenously, marvelling at the sweet taste of the sugar on his tongue – a luxury he seldom had the chance to experience. He sighed with pleasure as the warm breakfast filled his belly. He could have eaten more, and considered this once he was finished, but Dickon had grown up in a household where everything was always shared equally, and he knew that his Mother had other mouths to feed beside his. He also knew that if one person received a larger share, it generally meant someone else would have to go hungry.

He pulled on his warm overcoat, woolen socks and boots, in preparation for his ride to Misselthwaite, then made sure he had his scarf and cap.

'I'll see thee tonight then, Mother.' he said to her, giving her a kiss on her cheek. He then walked over to the doorway, pausing for a minute and savouring the warmth and light of the cottage before venturing out into the bleak cold that awaited him.

'Aye Lad, and take care out there. Looks like it might build into more snow later on.'

'Aye, well see thee by and by then.'

Dickon was grateful for the warmth of his pony that morning, and he clung to her mane as she cantered over the moors, his thoughts whirling around his head, much like the snow that fell on the moor. He knew that there was a good possibility of him being made apprentice to Ben Weatherstaff, and he wasn't sure how he felt about the idea. A large part of him knew that the extra money the job brought in would benefit his family and that he would be helping to provide for them – but another part wasn't so sure. That part of him that enjoyed spending time in the Secret Garden with Mary and Colin – and he wondered how that would be if he was to become one of the staff at Misselthwaite. Still, Dickon had long ago learnt to put the needs of others ahead of himself and he urged the pony on, resigning himself to his fate, and to a life filled with new responsibilities.

* * *

'I've come about th' gardenin' job, Master Craven.' 

Dickon stood at the door of the library, with his cap in his hands, feeling a little out of place in the grand manor. The huge fire from inside the library beckoned him enticingly, and he was relieved when Lord Craven asked him to come in. He was still chilled from his early morning ride over the moor, and he had begun to shiver while standing near the door.

'Ah yes, the position of under-gardener.' Archibald Craven said, as though he had forgotten. 'Forgive me, I keep forgetting how old Ben Weatherstaff actually is. Do you know lad, he has been working here since my Father's day?'

Dickon nodded. 'I'm sure I could learn a lot off him, sir', he replied solemly. 'and the extra money would help my family.'

Archibald Craven looked up at the young man standing in front of him. _Not even fifteen, he thought, and yet he is shouldering such heavy responsibilities._ He sighed deeply, and looked into Dickon's eyes.

'Lad, this is not an interview. You know that there is no one else I would rather have for the job. I just want to know if it's what you want for yourself.'

Dickon felt a little uncomfortable. Lord Craven was staring at him so intently, and he was not used to feeling as though he was under scrutiny by others. _Its_ _as though he can see right into me,_ the lad thought uneasily.

'Of course it's what I want, Sir. None of th' other lads I know are given such a chance.'

Lord Craven sighed 'Well, my boy, if that's how you feel about it, than so be it.' 'I will see that you are given a place in Ben Weatherstaff's cottage – you might have seen it? it's located next to the kitchen gardens.'

Dickon had seen it many times. The last time he had seen it was last summer when Colin had decided it would be fun to try to sneak into the cottage and have a look, and had also become set on the idea of Dickon joining him in the escapade. Dickon remembered the solid brick cottage well.

'Thank you, sir', Dickon replied, speaking formally, trying to sound pleased. It _was_ a wonderful chance, of course, yet he felt a sense of sadness creep over him at the same time. He straightened himself up and tried his best to smile and look enthusiastic.

'Well, we'll get you settled in there in a few days time. Ben could do with the extra help at the moment given his rheumatics.' Lord Craven smiled. 'Poor old man, he does struggle this time of year.'

'Aye, thank you Sir,'

'Thank you my boy, I'll just ring for Mrs Medlock to take you downstairs.' He looked at Dickon mischieviously. 'I think Cook has been baking this morning, and there may well be a muffin or two left over.'

Dickon was lead from the study by Mrs Medlock, the head housekeeper at Misselthwaite. Dickon knew that Colin and Mary both viewed her as some kind of old dragon, but he knew that she had a difficult job. Martha had often come home to talk about the goings on in the house and the large staff that Mrs Medlock had to manage and oversee. Dickon had heard Martha often speak of Mrs Medlock as being a hard mistress, but one that managed to run the household smoothly. She lead him down the staircase towards the kitchen. 'you may come in and warm your hands by the fire.' she said presently 'and perhaps we can arrange for a hot drink for you.' He thanked her, and proceeded to follow her down the chilly staircase, but not before he heard children's voices – and a stampede of footsteps - coming from the upper levels of the house.

'Run Mary!' called a young man, who Dickon instantly recognised as Colin. Colin's voiced echoed down the stairway, followed by a cry of alarm and then a shriek of laughter from Mary. He felt a pain in his chest all of a sudden as he heard the two of them playing and running amok without him. He suddenly felt the division between him and them once again – and stronger than he had ever felt it before. He realised the social barriers that separated him from their kind. They were free to run through the manor and play games – he, only a couple of years older, now had the responsibility of work resting heavily on his shoulders. He thought of his Mother and his siblings back home. So much depended on him, he knew, and he sighed inwardly at the thought. His life was changing so fast, and he still felt the feeling of dread at the thought of giving over his freedom.

* * *

His older sister Martha, was seated at the kitchen table when he arrived in the large kitchens, and when she saw him she jumped up in surprise and happiness and ran over to see him.

'Dickon! I did not expect to see tha' today! hows Mother and the wee uns?'

'They're all fine, Martha.' he replied, embracing his sister in a brotherly hug, forgetting his predicament for the moment.

'I hear you've come about the gardenin' job.'

'Aye. I just spoke to Lord Craven. He said I'm to be startin' in a couple of days.'

'Well, I'll be pleased to have my little brother nearby, and see that he stays out of trouble.' Martha cuffed him playfully on the shoulder.

Dickon grinned. 'Tha' knows I'd be th' last person to get int' trouble, Martha!'

'Aye, perhaps. Still, its the duty of an older sister, is it not?' she was teasing him now, he knew, but he didn't mind too much. Martha had always been a bit of a tease, but then, she was the same to anyone she met – gentry or otherwise.

He had to laugh at her then. 'Aye! well, I suppose it is. But tha' won't be here for much longer if th' rumours are correct? Mother was tellin' me that she expects tha and David to announce it any day now.'

'Annouce what?' Martha answered, feigning ignorance.

'Tha' knows what I'm talkin' about! tis the talk of th' whole village.'

He noticed Martha beginning to colour and blush.

'Ah, so he has asked tha', then?'

'Oh Dickon, even th' big sister cannot lie around you!' Martha replied in frustration, although there was still a tone of amusement to her voice. She lead him over to a quiet corner of the kitchen, and dropped her voice to a whisper.

'Well, if tha' has t' know, he has asked me – and Dickon... I've said yes! - but I can't have Mother findin' out until I can tell her myself, alright?'

'Aye sister... and congratulations!'

He laughed and hugged her again, and she hugged him back, her happiness evident.

'Oh Dickon! tha' is such a good brother. Come, let me fetch tha' a cup o' somethin' hot. I want t' hear all th' news of home.'

* * *

Later that day, Dickon found himself speaking to Ben Weatherstaff, out in the cold chill of the winter gardens. 

'Well Lad... so it'll be thee tha' will be replacin' me, eh?'

Ben had always been gruff, Dickon knew – and often brutally blunt and to the point, giving his opinion freely about everything and everyone. Still, Dickon also knew that underneath his gruff exterior there was a kindly old soul. After all, the old man had tended to the secret garden for almost ten years after Lilias Craven – Colin's Mother – had passed away.

'Tha' won't be too busy tending to tha' animals, I hope?' old Ben continued. 'There will be no time for any of that, w' gardens to look after.'

'Aye Ben,' Dickon replied, smiling. He knew the old man well, and knew exactly how to placate him.

'And don't go thinkin' tha can bring creatures into th' cottage. I've always said I'll never tolerate an animal indoors.'

Dickon nodded his understanding.

'Hmmph.' Ben grunted 'Well, I expect thee first thing Monday mornin. And don't be late.' He said, shaking his finger at Dickon.

Dickon watched Ben shuffle away, and stood for a moment deep in thought. Things were changing so fast, and he felt as if he barely had time to keep up. In a few days time he would be starting his new life as Ben's under-gardener, and he would be living away from home – something he had never done before. His sister would be getting married soon, and leaving Misselthwaite, and he knew that it would only be a matter of time before Colin would be leaving, too. Dickon stood still, looking over the frozen garden, his thoughts colliding through his mind, like leaves being blown about in the breeze.

The approaching sound of children's voices broke him out of his thoughts. He looked up towards the direction the noise was coming from, and caught sight of Mary and Colin, racing down one of the garden paths, looking as though they were engaged in a game of tag. Mary was in the lead, being flanked by Colin, her long blonde hair and red scarf blowing in the breeze. Colin pelted on behind her, his cheeks rosy with exercise, and his face determined.

Mary was the first to see Dickon, and she shouted his name and waved to him. The game of tag was abruptly put on hold, as the two children raced over to greet Dickon.

Colin barged ahead of Mary, with his usual sense of authority.

'Is it true?' he said, still trying to catch his breath, and without so much as greeting Dickon. 'You're to be working as an under-gardener for Ben Weatherstaff?'

'Aye, he needs some extra help now his rheumatism is getting worse. I'm t' start on Monday.' News travels fast here, he thought, wondering how the two of them had found out.

He looked over to Mary, and saw she was smiling.

'That means that you'll be here every day now, Dickon?'

'Aye.'

'So you'll be able to spend more time with us in the Secret Garden?'

He shrugged. 'I don't see why not. I'm sure Ben wouldn't mind... too much,' he finished with a smile. As long as I do' tha work thats expected of me.'

Colin broke in.

'Well, I will talk to the old man myself, Dickon, and make sure that he doesn't overwork you, and gives you a decent amount of time to work in the Secret Garden. He paused, then added with great seriousness 'and to spend time with Mary and I, of course.'

'Thats very kind of thee.' Dickon replied, smiling inwardly, wanting to laugh and give Colin a little mock bow. Colin had a knack of making one feel as though they were in the presence of royalty, Dickon thought, wanting to chuckle.

'Oh Dickon! I'm so pleased!' Mary said, clasping her hands together enthusiastically. 'Now we can all spend even more time together.'

Her enthusiasm was catching, and his wide grin soon matched her own. _Surely_ _it won't be so bad, working here,_ he thought. _I'll still be able to tend to the__Secret Garden – and see my friends_. He knew that Colin would use whatever power he had over Ben to make sure of that. Suddenly things didn't seem so bad after all.

'Come on Dickon!' Colin exclaimed. 'We were playing tag, and I'm it – come and join in. I bet I'll be able to catch you.'

He lurched towards Dickon and Dickon jumped back, dodging him. Mary shrieked with pleasure and turned to run. Dickon laughed and then went pelting after her, hearing Colin's footsteps close behind. For the moment he forget about his new responsibilities and found freedom once again in his childhood, enjoying being alive and with his friends on such a crisp and wonderful winters morning.


	3. A birthday and a departure

**Hi there everyone! I've finally written a third chapter for this story. I decided to seperate it up into sub-chapters within each chapter, just to make it easier to read, as the plot tends to jump around quite a bit from scene to scene and character to character. Please read and give me some feedback on this if you can - in particular the ending, because I don't think I got it quite right - so if there are any ways I could change it to make it flow better, please let me know! thanks :D  
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**Part 3 – A birthday, and a departure.**

**I**

'Lad! I need thee to move th' Wheelbarrow!'

Dickon sighed inwardly, as he heard Ben Weatherstaff's gruff voice ring out over the kitchen gardens. The old man, it seemed, was in constant need of Dickon's assistance, these days.

'Alright Ben, I'll be right there.' he called back.

He shoved his gardening fork into the dirt, and wiped his brow. He had been digging potatoes and it was hot, sweaty work. Just one of the many tasks required of him before the cold weather set in.

'What took tha so long?' Ben asked, when Dickon appeared around the corner. 'I don't have all day t' wait, boy!'

Dickon smiled at Ben, and picked up the handles of the wheelbarrow.

'And make sure thee empties it completely, mind. I don't want t' see any weeds sticking to th' sides!'

'Aye aye.' Dickon replied in a light tone. He knew that he shared a good relationship with the weathered old gardener. They had been sharing a house together now for almost a year, and knew each other well. Dickon knew that for all Ben's gruffness and bravado, the old man had a good heart.

'Just canna show it.' Dickon murmered to himself as he wheeled the wheelbarrow towards the compost heap. He tipped it over to empty it, starting to sing a tune under his breath. When he looked up, he saw Mary Lennox standing nearby, giggling.

'Dickon – I didn't know you had such a good singing voice.' she said.

He looked over and took her all in. She was wearing thick woolen stockings and her old, tattered boots. She was bundled up in what looked to be one of her old black coats, which had obviously seen better days. She's been gardenin' he thought, and wondered what Mrs Medlock would have to say about her ensemble.

'It's a well kept secret.' he replied with a smile.

'What is Ben having you do today?' she asked.

'Just diggin' the Potatoes for it gets too cold, helpin' him with the weeding, that kind of thing.' He decided to ask her the obvious. 'You've been gardenin' then?'

'Yes. I came to look for you.' she said. 'I thought you might like to have your lunch with me, in the garden.'

'Colin's not here today, then?'

'No. Mrs Medlock has taken him into the village to outfit him with clothes for London.'

'Aye. I heard he'll be leaving in a couple of weeks.'

'Yes... on October the 15th.'

She seemed sad but was trying her best to hide it, he realised. He couldn't blame her. The two of them hadn't been apart for almost three years. It will be hard for her, he mused. He hadn't told her that Colin had come to him when he found out he was going and excitedly said how much he couldn't wait to leave. He was to be enrolled at one of the top boy's schools he had said, and would be staying with friends of his uncle, in London. Dickon knew that he had probably told a different story to Mary, and thought that it would be best to keep what he knew to himself.

'I'll be sorry to see him go – he's a good lad.' was all that he said.

'Anyway, would you like to join me for lunch?' she said, changing the topic.

'Yes, I don't see why I can't. Let me just go an' tell Ben not t' expect me at th' cottage.'

* * *

**II**

'This looks good!'

Dickon opened the package Mary had brought to him from the kitchen, the smell of warm bread and cheese wafting up to his nose. She looked up at him shyly.

'Cook told me these were your favourite.'

'Aye, and right she is too.' He took a bite, and closed his eyes, savouring the taste. 'Ah! delicious as usual!'

They sat and ate in silence for a while, Dickon ploughing into his food with all the rigour of someone who spends most of their time engaged in physical labour. Mary pecked at hers as if she didn't quite have an appetite. After a time, she spoke up, addressing nobody in particular.

'It will be my birthday in a week.' she said, staring off into the wilderness of the garden. 'I'll be thirteen, the same age as Colin.'

Dickon remembered that Colin had had his thirteenth birthday just over two months ago. It had been a grand affair at the Manor, attended by all the well known families in the area.

'So does tha' plan to have a grand party then?' he asked, with curiousity. 'Like Colin did?'

'No. I don't really like big parties. I think I'd much rather spend it with you and Colin.' She smiled and looked up at him with her bright blue eyes 'and with the animals of course.' she added with a smile.

Dickon grinned, his mind already racing ahead as to what he could do to help prepare a party for her. 'I think that might be able to be arranged.' he said with a cunning grin. _He would have to speak to Colin_, he thought, _and organise_ _something with him_, he decided. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to make Mary's birthday really special. Seeing as she would probably feel so low over Colin leaving. _Something big and fancy _he thought..._ perhaps a large_ _bonfire? it would have to be at night, but we could arrange it. Yes, that could work..._

'I've got just the thing.' he said. 'But I'm not going to tell thee what it is. I want it to be a surprise, and I've got to speak to Colin first.'

Her eyes shone with excitement 'Oh Dickon! you have a surprise for me! what is it?'

'Sorry, no clues!' he replied, laughing, loving her reaction of excitement. She frowned playfully and punched his arm. 'Oh! you always do this to me. Keep me guessing. It's not fair, Dickon!'

'Well, I just know how much tha' loves being surprised.' he replied, laughing, enjoying the look of pretend annoyance in her eyes.

* * *

**III**

'I need your help, Colin.' Dickon said the following day after he had pulled Colin aside. It was a calm, late Autumn day, still and crisp, and Colin had been helping Mary in the garden.

'Help? what for?' the young lad replied, perplexed. 'Why do you want my help, Dickon?' His frown cleared and a look of understanding followed. 'Ah! I know, you want me to help you with your reading again, is that it?'

Dickon frowned. 'No, no, nuthin' like that. I need tha t' help with Miss Mary's birthday... it's her birthday in less than a week and I was hoping we could surprise her.'

Colin gave Dickon one of his devious smiles. 'What is it you intend to do?'

'She mentioned she'd like t' celebrate her birthday with just the two of us. So I thought we could surprise her by building her a huge bonfire in th' forest at night. I'd need you to keep her distracted while I was building it, and also t' lead her to it blindfolded, like, out t' it once it is finished.'

'A bonfire!' Colin's eyes lit up. 'What a splendid idea, Dickon! and don't worry, you can count on me to keep Mary distracted.'

'Tha's what I thought.' the young man said. 'and Colin, perhaps th' can begin by helping me gather wood.'

'Oh, ah, well... you see...er... I'd love to Dickon, but I'm afraid I have a suit fitting this afternoon.' He shrugged, and (Dickon thought) did his best to put on an apologetic expression. 'You know how it is...'

Dickon waited until Colin had gone before chuckling to himself, and after envisioning the lean young man trying to carry wood and haul logs through the forest, he came to the conclusion that perhaps he was better off making the whole thing by himself, after all.

* * *

**IV**

Mary Lennox felt a tingle of fear and anticipation run through her. The night was chilly, and she was glad she had thought to bring her coat – and was appreciative of the warmth of Colin's hand in hers. Blackness lay all around her, through the confines of the blindfold, and she had no idea where she was. All Colin had said was that he and Dickon had a surprise for her, and that she would have to be lead to it blindfolded. She made her way hesitantly through the darkness, feeling the crackling of twigs and dry leaves underfoot. 'Come on, Mary,' Colin was saying, guiding her along through the blackness 'we're almost there. I just know you're going to love the surprise that Dickon and I have planned for you.' Mary frowned under her blindfold, but couldn't help feeling excited at the thought of what awaited her at the end of her journey through the darkness. 'Are you sure about this, Colin?' she said, 'it feels as though we're in the middle of nowhere.'

'Just trust me, my dear Cousin.' was all that he said in reply, as he pulled her further into the middle of the forest.

* * *

**V**

_What was taking them so long?_ he wondered, as he warmed his hands in front of the raging bonfire. He felt nervous, and he didn't know why. It was only Mary and Colin after all, and he had known Mary for three years now – yet he couldn't quite shake off the fear that she wouldn't like his surprise, and he hated the thought of letting her down.

He looked over towards the pile of food that he had been given earlier, from Cook. There was a loaf of bread, some cheese, spreads, and even some potatoes – which he knew would taste delicious after being roasted on the fire. He felt his heart beating furiously in his chest. Where were they?

As if in answer to his question, his finely tuned ears picked up noises coming from within the forest.

'You don't know where you're going, Colin!' a girls voice complained angrily. 'you're obviously lost!'

_Ah, so they've made it this far_, Dickon thought, relieved.

'Nonsense. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Now, it's this way, I think...'

'What's that burning smell?' Mary asked with a worried tone.

'Ah that... er... nothing Mary... perhaps just the gardeners burning off their old stock...'

'No, they never burn things in here. Oh Colin! let me take this stupid thing off!' she struggled to remove the blindfold just as she came into view of Dickon – and the roaring bonfire.

'Surprise! and Happy Birthday!' He said with a grin, standing in front of the rearing flames.

A look of astonishment and wonder crept over her face as she took in the sight of the huge bonfire burning behind him.

'Oh Dickon! did you make this for me?!' he nodded. 'It's wonderful!'

'I helped too, Mary.' Colin quickly interjected. 'Look how tall it is! Almost taller than Dickon, I'd say. You see, Dickon and I thought it would be a grand idea to build you a bonfire for your birthday.'

'Aye, so we did.' Dickon replied, humouring the young man. He knew that it had been his idea, but he did not want Colin to lose face in front of his cousin.

Mary ran around it in rapt delight, taking in the hiss of the flames, the glow of the embers, the smell of the burning pine.

'It's so huge! look at how the flames are reaching up into the sky!' she exclaimed, before spying the parcel of food. 'You brought food, too!'

'Well yes, we can't have tha' goin hungry on tha' birthday. But we'll have to cook it first.'

Colin sat down on a blanket Dickon had spread by the bonfire, gestured for Mary to join him, and began warming his hands. Dickon carefully placed the potatoes in the embers by the side of the fire, near where his friends sat, and then went to join them.

Mary sat between Colin and Dickon and sighed with pleasure. 'I just love this bonfire.' she said 'I never would have guessed the surprise would be anything like this.'

'We just wanted to give you something really special, Mary.' Colin said. 'Especially as this will be one of the last times we're all together.'

'Yes, while we're all together.' she said softly, taking Dickon's hand and Colin's hand. 'Thank you both... so much.'

They sat together, in silence, watching the flames lick and rear into the blackness of the night sky. All of them feeling as if the end of an era had come. The end of their carefree childhood. They sat together, savouring the last moments while they still could. None wanting to admit their feelings to the other.

* * *

**VI**

'Do you think Colin will recover alright from his burnt hand.' Dickon asked Mary the next day, as they were dead heading the roses in the garden.

She turned to look at him, amusement gracing her features. 'I'm sure he will be just fine. You know how he is, Dickon.'

'Aye, and his 'injury' has been the talk of the Manor – well, in the servants quarters at least.' he added with a grin.

'Anyone would think that he had fallen into the fire, not just burnt his hand on a hot potato!' Mary laughed, sitting up and brushing her hair away from her face. 'But that's Colin. However, I've no doubt that all traces of his injury will disappear as soon as he leaves for London.'

She seemed awfully brave about Colin leaving, Dickon thought, as he watched the young woman gardening beside him. It was the first she had mentioned about Colin's immanent departure for a long time. She will miss him, the lad mused. She has been by his side nearly every day for these past three years.

'He won't be gone long, Miss Mary.' Dickon said softly. 'He'll be back before tha' knows it.'

She turned from her gardening to look at him. Her features tight and hard to read.

'Yes, Dickon. I know. I suppose it hasn't really seemed real until now.'

'Miss Mary,' he replied softly, 'you know that I'll be here if tha' should need me.'

She smiled sadly and reached out to touch his arm. 'Thank you Dickon, you really are a true friend.'

He started at her touch, and tried not to show it. He thought of how it had been when they were sitting in front of the bonfire and she had reached for his hand. Her hand had felt so small and warm within his own. He wished he could put an arm around her and comfort her, perhaps stroke her back and tell her everything would be alright – as he did to his animal creatures when they were in distress. No, you musn't, he said to himself and tried to push the thought away.

They continued gardening in silence, then Mary spoke up. 'Its starting to get dark – look at the sky. I think the sun might be setting.'

He looked up and saw the blue sky fading to purple, and becoming streaked with hues of yellow and red. 'Aye, it is going down for th' day.' he replied. 'We should probably pack up, b'fore it gets too cold.'

'Shall we go to Colin's room and watch the sunset?' she asked. 'This might be the last sunset we watch for a while.'

'Aye', he replied, 'and Miss Mary -'

She stopped what she was doing and turned to face him.

'Yes Dickon?'

'Don't worry too much about Colin leaving. He will come back.'

* * *

**VII **

Dickon lay in his narrow bed that evening, mulling over the events of the day. The cottage he shared with Ben was warm and snug, and his whitewashed room was splayed with dancing candlelight. He stared into the flickering flame as he struggled to put his thoughts in order. It had been a strange day and he guessed that part of it had been because the excitement of Mary's surprise birthday had faded. Now Colin's departure seemed like a very real thing indeed, not something that could be put off any longer. He knew that Mary was feeling the strain of having her cousin leave, and Dickon was at a loss over what he could do to comfort her.

He was slowly realising that the way he felt about her was... different somehow, than it had been before. He remembered the previous day when she had been upset and he had wanted to go up to her and put his arm around her. He hadn't, of course, and he wondered now what had stopped him? he remembered thinking that it wouldn't be appropriate, although he wouldn't have hesitated to do it in the past.

_We're all growing up,_ he realised, somewhat dismally. _We're changing, and things can't stay the way they were_. These new feelings he was experiencing were both exciting and troubling, and he thought now of Mary as he lay in bed in the silence of the night. '_Mary_', he whispered her name outloud to himself, turning his thoughts to the way her golden hair glimmered in the sunlight, and danced in the wind, much like the flickering flame of his candle. _She is lovely_, he thought, _so lovely_, as he sighed and closed his eyes.

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	4. When the sun hits the sky

**Ok, so here it is! part 4 in the story 'Summer's almost gone', which serves as a prequel to 'My Secret.' Please leave me a review if you enjoy reading it, you have no idea how much the reviews inspire me. **

**Thanks to all of those that have left reviews already: Macabea, GreenEyedVampire, Sniggs, The Phoenix Strikes Again, Ibaka, Rainerozery, Camj59, Theatre Raven - this chapter is for you guys!**

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**Part 4 – August, 1906**

**When the sun hits the sky...**

The smell of ripe hay drifted up to his nostrils, and Dickon breathed heavily, savouring the warm, late summer scent. The shed in which he was stacking the hay was hot and warm, doing little to shelter him from the heat of the overhead sun. The summer of 1906 had been one of the hottest – and driest, on record.

Dickon could feel sweat gathering on his brow as he worked, taking bundles of hay from the nearby wagon, and lifting them up onto the heap. It was hard, hot work. In the back of his mind he could picture the feel of the ice cold water from inside the manor that awaited him when he finished. He imagined how good it would feel sliding down the back of his throat, quenching his thirst.

That summer had been a blessing to the secret garden. The roses had bloomed early, and had added their bright colours to the profusion already present within the garden. Mary loved the roses. He didn't think he had ever met anyone who loved roses more than she did. Of course, he had never known her aunt, Lilias, and it never would have crossed his mind to make a comparison between the two in that respect. Although it hadn't escaped old Ben Weatherstaff's notice that Miss Mary was almost as fond of roses as his deceased Mistress.

He had promised Mary he would meet her in the garden for a late lunch, as soon as the hay was stacked. He pictured how the rest of the afternoon would be – a leisurely lunch under the shade of the trees in their garden, followed by a bit of brief gardening (Ben was kind enough to give him an hour for lunch, but expected him back again as soon as the hour was up). Dickon knew that Mary had a lot she wanted to discuss with him – in particular the upcoming nuptuals of his sister, Martha. Martha was currently spending her last days as a servant at Misselthwaite, before her marriage took place in two week's time. Dickon couldn't have been happier for his older sister, who had found happiness with the local cariters son. It was to be a large affair – Dickon's family certainly weren't small in number, and it was expected that the servants of the manor would attend, and, rumour had it, even Lord Craven and his niece, Mary Lennox.

_'I wish Martha didn't have to leave'_, she had said, and he had seen a flicker of pain cross her features. He knew how close Miss Mary was to his sister, and he also knew she wouldn't be the only one who would feel an emptiness in their life after she left.

'Dickon! I'm over here!' she called out to him, and a moment later he heard her laugh and the pounding of her feet on the gravel as she ran up to him. Her hair was dishevelled, and she had a small streak of earth running down her face where she had obviously reached up to brush away her hair.

He grinned in return. 'Good afternoon Miss Mary. I see thee has been doin' th' gardenin?'

'yes, of course. Although I think it might be time to break for lunch now. I'm getting awfully hot.'

'Shall we sit under th' tree?' he said, gesturing towards the shade under the old apple tree.

She nodded and grabbed his hand, leading him over to where the food basket sat.

'I suppose tha wants me to pick it up and carry it for thee?' he said, with amusement on his tongue. 'after all my hard work this mornin', too.'

She put her hands on her hips. 'You're not the only one who has been working hard, Dickon Sowerby.' she said, giving him a look of sour amusement.

'Ah well, I suppose it'd only be gentlemanly of me.' he returned, ducking down to pick up the basket. 'I don't know how my sister's fiancee copes with all the demands placed on him.' he shook his head and sighed, catching a glint of amusement in her eyes. 'Besides, I suppose I am the taller one, after all.'

He stood up to his full height, holding the basket in one hand, laughing in spite of himself as he saw her grow irritated by the height difference he had so obviously pointed out. He had grown so much in the last year that his Mother had often said it looked as though someone had taken him out and stretched him. _'Surely tha' canna grow any bigger,' she would often say. 'and th'art only fifteen'._

They sat together under the shade of the tree, and ate quietly.

Mary sighed.

'It really is so beautiful here. I remember when Colin said that being here made him feel as though he could live forever and ever.' she paused. 'do you remember, Dickon?'

'Aye, I remember.' he replied. _How could he forget?_

She delicately ate the remaining part of her sandwich before stretching out to lay down, in the lush grass beneath them. The warm wind blew lightly around them, and Dickon could hear the far off chirping of crickets.

'On days like this I know exactly how he felt.' she said, dreamily. 'I feel as though there is nothing stopping us from living forever and ever. You know, Dickon, I would like nothing more than to stay here forever, to spend all my summer days in the garden... to dig the earth and watch things grow.'

He watched her as she lay on the grass, with her hay coloured hair spread around her head like a halo. He noticed everything about her. Her blue eyes, that were staring off into the distance in that wistfull way, the smooth creaminess of her skin, the light scattering of freckles around her nose, how her lips were soft and the same shade of pink as the roses that adorned their garden. He took her all in, and wished that somehow he could preserve this moment forever, that he could somehow make it last.

'But we all grow up, Dickon', she murmered sadly.

'Aye, Miss Mary. Tis' the way o' things.'

'Martha is to be married in two weeks. Things are changing.'

He had broached the subject with him, as he knew she would. He wisely decided that it would be best to remain silent and let her speak.

'You know, I was so horrid to her when I first came here, Dickon. I remember once, I even called her the daughter of a pig!' (at thsi Dickon chucked inwardly, thinking about how his headstrong older sister would have taken such an insult) 'but she never did anything but love me, and now she is leaving.'

She paused once more, as if lost in thought, and then turned her face to him. Her eyes were blue and sparkling.

'You are so much like her, you know. Like – well - almost like two peas in a pod! I do like you so much, Dickon.'

'I ... I care for thee, also, Miss Mary.'

She smiled her lovely smile at him, her mouth like a pink rosebud.

He tried to turn away from those eyes, to stop feeling as though he was being pulled down into their depths. _Was this the way things were between men and_ _women?_ he wondered. _Was this how Martha felt when she met Andrew?_ Suddenly he realised what he was thinking, and felt his cheeks colouring. _You can't, don't even think it. She is the niece of the Master._

If Mary had noticed his blush, she didn't show it. Her eyes had turned back to the green foliage of the apple tree and the sapphire sky above it.

'Will tha' be comin' to th' weddin' then?' he asked, trying to change the subject.

'Yes, I believe we will be. Colin will be coming down from London for it, so Uncle tells me. Oh Dickon! it's going to be such a happy time, and I can't wait to see Colin again! just think, the three of us will be together again, just like old times!'

'Aye, just like old times.'

He tried his best to sound happy, but suddenly, all he could think about was the educated Master Craven coming back, filling the garden with his talk of London, and taking Miss Mary away from him. He tried to push the thought out of his mind.

'Anyway, there is much to be done before then.' she said, sitting up, and brushing stray leaves out of her hair. 'Come on Dickon, let's get this garden looking as grand as we can for Colin's arrival.'

* * *

'Do you take this man to be your husband?' the old priest was saying. 

'I do.' said Martha softly, then, her face lighting up with a huge smile 'Oh Andrew, I do!'

'Then by the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.' the old man turned benignly to the younger man standing in front of him. The priest smiled kindly and gestured towards Martha.

'As the custom dictates, I believe you may now kiss your bride.'

The church erupted in a fit of excited clapping, from the crowd and whoops of encouragement from Dickon's brothers. He stood next to his future brother-in-law, flanked by his older brother, Phil. Phil was clapping enthusiastically with the rest, stopping only to pat Andrew on the back and welcome him into the family. Dickon's gaze left his newly married sister, and took in the scene within the church. He caught a glimpse of Mary, standing next to her uncle and cousin, wiping happy tears from her eyes. She was wearing a dress he had not seen before of a light blue silk, and her long hair was falling about her shoulders, tamed only by her straw hat. _Oh god, she looks lovely_, thought Dickon, feeling his heart catch in his throat.

He thought of the priests words _'you may now kiss your bride.'_ and how happy Martha had been. For a split second within his mind he saw an image of Miss Mary, clad in white as Martha had been, with her face turned up to his. 'I do', he heard her whisper, 'Oh Dickon, I do!'

He looked towards her again. Her face an image of pure happiness and joy, as she had been that day in the garden, only two weeks ago. She was smiling and saying something to her cousin, who was clapping with similar enthusiasm. His thoughts turned to what she had said, that day in the garden - about how it made her feel as though she could live forever and ever, and it did not surprise him in the least when he realised that being with her made him feel exactly the same way.


	5. An Arrival

**It feels great to be writing this story again - and I've planned out the final two chapters for it too, So I'll be posting those soon. I've finally got some time to write and it feels fantastic.  
**

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**Chapter 5: An arrival.**

**May, 1907**

'Congratulations my Boy, you are now an Uncle!'

Ten days after he had watched his Father's ecstatic smile and heard him speak those words, Dickon was on his way to the village of Thwaite, intent on visiting his sister, and his new nephew.

He decided to ride to Thwaite on his new horse, Jenny, which had been a gift from Lord Craven, Mary's uncle. She was a young horse, and full of energy, and Dickon spent most of the ride to the village holding on for dear life as she sped across the moors with uncanny speed. The day had dawned with blue skies – a beautiful spring morning – the moors lush and full of life. Dickon had spent the ride observing the numerous birds which graced the sky – swallows, skylarks, and hawks making up only some of their number. The heather swayed in the warm breeze as he rode and he felt thankful to be alive on such a wonderful morning. Once again, he felt grateful to be under the employment of Lord Craven – who gave his staff one day off every month. A whole day, all to himself, it seemed too wonderful to believe.

Dickon pondered life as he rode along the moor. It dawned on him that he was now seventeen years old. How much life had changed in the last four years! Ever since a certain headstrong young lass had come to live at Misselthwaite manner... Mary, he thought, and felt a warm glow steal over him.

They had been wonderful childhood friends, and still spent as much time together as possible. Mary loved the garden, and would often spend whole days in there (under the disapproving glare of Mrs Medlock, the housekeeper, Dickon was sure). He would always make time to spend some of the day with her in the garden – even if it meant sacrificing the odd lunch break to do so. Dickon didn't mind though. Of course, he had no way of knowing that his visits to the garden had provoked much gossip among the servants of the manner, and complaints of him thinking too highly of himself. 'He's not one of them', many a maid had said bitterly, as he was watched unknowingly, yet again making his way to the secret garden to be with Mary. 'when is he going t' realise it?' But of course Dickon was blissfully unaware of such goings on.

Thwaite was a small, but thriving village, about an hour's ride from Misselthwaite manor, and it was in Thwaite village that Dickon's sister, Martha lived, with her husband Andrew – and now her small baby, Jemmy.

He hesitantly knocked on the door of his sister's house, and then, hearing laughter coming from within the house, smiled and let himself in.

'He is a darling baby, Martha. You certainly have done yourself proud.' He heard a strong and haughty voice say. Dickon paused, listening intently, then recognised the voice belonged to Mrs Medlock, the housekeeper at Misselthwaite.

'He is beautiful, Martha.' another person said. Dickon's stomach turned. It was Miss Mary!

Swallowing hard, he let himself into the room, trying to ignore the furious beating of his heart.

'Dickon!' Martha screamed ecstatically when she saw him. Running over, she pulled him in for a hug.

'My word lad, tha' grows taller every time I see thee!' she exclaimed looking him up and down in a sisterly fashion.

He chuckled. 'Well, anyone is taller compared t' thee.' he joked. 'I've come t' see th' young un.' he stated, then sat down, trying not to meet Mary's gaze, while under the watchful eye of Mrs Medlock.

'Miss Lennox and I were just in the village shopping for summer gowns.' Mrs Medlock explained to him. 'She seems to have outgrown most of her old ones.' she said this in a disapproving tone, as if it was Mary had grown on purpose, just to irritate her.

'So I suggested that we pop in and see Martha and Jemmy.' Mary finished. 'And oh Dickon, isn't he beautiful?' she sighed, looking fondly at the small baby.

He glanced over at the small sleeping bundle in the bassinet. _My Nephew_, he thought, with wonder.

He nodded, not knowing what to say.

'Would tha' like some tea and cake, Brother?' Martha asked, moving to put the kettle on.

'Let me, Martha.' the old housekeeper interjected. 'You look exhausted.'

Martha smiled wearily, thanked the older woman, then sat down next to Dickon and Mary.

'So how is th' job going, Dickon?' she asked him. 'Is thee old man still givin thee trouble?'

'Ah Ben... well...' he smiled 'tha' knows how he is.'

'Only too well.' Martha said with a knowing grin.

'The truth is, he couldn't do without you, Dickon.' Mary said earnestly. 'What with his rheumatism being the way it is. He needs a good strong lad. I think he considers himself more of a foreman these days. And Martha – he has Dickon doing most of the work in the gardens.' She beamed with pride as she spoke, trying to catch Dickon's eye.

Dickon felt a blush creep over his face at Mary's mention of his abilities.

'Well, he is an old man, after all.' he said, inwardly wishing for the topic of conversation to change.

The kettle began to whistle, and Mrs Medlock busied herself by making tea, shrugging off Martha's apologies that she could not tend to it herself.

After pouring the tea and serving Dickon some cake, Mrs Medlock gathered her belongings, and gave the young woman at her side a knowing look.

'Well Miss Lennox.' Mrs Medlock announced curtly. 'I think it's time we were off. Shall we leave Martha with her brother.'

'But surely we don't have to go yet.' the young woman replied. 'The dress shop can wait, can't it?'

'I'm afraid not. Come along now.'

Mary rose, with a rather surly expression, making a face at Mrs Medlock behind her back, forcing Dickon to hold back his laughter. She turned around to hug Martha goodbye, then went over to Dickon.

'Goodbye Dickon.' she said, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead.

'Goodbye Miss Mary', he mumbled, still feeling the lingering sensation of her lips on his skin.

* * *

Dickon spent the next half hour admiring his new Nephew, and congratulating his sister. While she put Jemmy to bed, he busied himself tidying the cottage as best he could – looking for anything that he could repair while he was there. He was just outside in the back garden, inspecting the vegetable garden when he heard Martha bustling back into the kitchen. 

'My, so many visitors recently. I've barely had time to sit down. What with Jemmy and all.' she said, meeting him in the garden.

'Let me know if there's anything that needs doing, Martha.' he asked earnestly. 'If I can help thee and Andrew in any way.'

'Dear Brother, it is tha' day off!' she replied. 'I wouldn't dream of it.'

She listened to him argue about why he should help her, then slyly changed the subject.

'T'was nice of Mrs Medlock and Miss Mary to visit.' she said, watching for Dickon's reaction. 'That Miss Mary, she is growing into a fine young lady.

Just as she suspected, he blushed.

'She is.' he mumbled. 'But still works just as hard in th' garden. I don't think it pleases the Missus much though.'

'I can imagine.' laughed Martha, thinking of Mrs Medlocks disapproving glances towards her young charge. 'Well, she always was headstrong, that one.'

They both chuckled together at the ongoing battle of wills that seemed to be building over the years, between the young woman and the old housekeeper. Dickon had Martha laughing out loud at some of the anecdotes he supplied her with, of the goings on of the manor. Gradually, the conversation turned to the staff that resided within the manor, Martha keen to catch up with all the gossip that had been going on since she left to be married. She then supplied her younger brother with her own little jewel of information, passed to her conspiratorily by the cook on her last visit.

'Well, from what I hear it appears you've been causing quite a stir with the young ladies at th' manor, in recent months.' Martha teased.

'Wh' does tha mean?' he stuttered, all at once embarrassed and amazed at his older sisters ability to make him feel as though he were a child again.

'I think tha' knows what I mean.' she replied playfully. 'Let me see... from what I hear young Sarah Thomas is quite taken with thee – not to mention Annie Sewell, the cook's hand.'

'Really?' he replied incredulously. He couldn't help himself. He hadn't noticed. Then before he realised what he was saying, blurted out 'I'm not interested in them, Martha.'

'I can see that.' Martha lost no time in replying. Then pausing. 'Well, who is it tha' is interested in, brother?'

'Ah... no one... no one really.'

'Not even Miss Mary?'

She noticed the way he averted his eyes at the mention of her name.

'Miss... Miss Mary? Oh, only as a friend... I mean... I do like her, it's just that she is -' he stopped, sat down on the steps of the doorway, and sighed.

Martha took a seat next to her brother, grimacing as she sat down, hoping that he didn't notice. She reached over and placed an arm around his shoulders. It was no secret that Dickon was Martha's favourite sibling, and the two of them had always been close. She knew what he was thinking, it was written on his face as plain as day. She had watched him, Colin, and Mary grow up together, and had often wondered how it would play out. She now knew, without a shadow of a doubt that he had fallen in love with the headstrong young lass.

'Unattainable?' she finished for him.

'Aye.'

Martha knew what was weighing on Dickon's mind. Mary Lennox was one of the gentry – whether she behaved like it or not, and was destined to become a lady, with a house and servants of her own one day. It was just the way of things, the natural order. Who were they to challenge it? Yet something told Martha that it wasn't over yet.

'Ah Dickon. Nothin' is set in stone. Tha' will always have Miss Mary as a friend, I'm sure o' it.'

'But wha' if I want more than that.' he said softly.

She looked at the young man by her side, her beautiful, lovely brother and wondered what possible advice she could give him. Not wanting to completely break his heart with the reality of the situation, she chose her words carefully.

'Oh Dickon... tha' mun be patient... only time will tell wha' is goin' t' happen.'

* * *

Later that day, as Dickon rode Jenny back through the moors to Misselthwaite, he thought of his sister's words. 

_I must be patient_, he thought to himself. _And I must not give up hope. _

When he returned, he knew that she would be waiting for him in their secret garden. She would greet him with a smile, and then eagerly show him around the garden - awaiting his opinion on whatever work she had been doing. She would be wearing her gardening clothes, she would be grubby with dirt, with grass stains on her clothes. And he would love her, but never say a word to her about it, he would just be patient... waiting for the time to be right, to tell her how he felt. _  
_

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**Yay! finished. Please let me know your thoughts, as usual. I value every one of them.**

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	6. Just the two of us

**I have been writing like a mad thing today, and got this chapter finished, so I thought I'd post it up. There is one more chapter of this story to go and then it is finished! just one chapter! I'm so excited. Another complete story. Sometimes you feel as though you'll never get to the end when you're writing them, but then what do you know? all of a sudden the story is finished. This chapter is dedicated to Grayscales and Ironysabitch - thanks for the reviews on the previous chapter. Please read and review this chapter and let me know your thoughts and anything I should be doing differently or could do better. These past two chapters have not been Betaed - so if there are any spelling/grammar mistakes please forgive me! There will be a re-write at some stage... **

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**Summer's almost gone: Part 6**

**'Just the two of us'**

**July, 1908**

Martha's baby was now over a year old. Dickon pondered on this, as he tilled the soil of the kitchen gardens, which lay behind the manor house. He had been an uncle for a whole year. Life had progressed much as it had the previous few years. He had continued to work as an under-gardener to Ben Weatherstaff, he still had his day off every month, and he still continued to help a certain head strong young lady with her secret garden.

And of course, he was still madly in love with the aforementioned girl who tended the secret garden.

It was once again, the middle of summer, and Dickon sweated as he worked. Tilling the soil was hard work, and one of the many jobs that was now, solely his responsibility. As Dickon approached the grand old age of nineteen, Ben had finally seen fit to give him the majority of the work - and the responsibility that went with it.

The strong young lad continued to be the subject of gossip and speculation among the maids and kitchen hands of the manor (and of a few of the village girls who knew him) yet his heart belonged to Mary and no other.

Mary's sixteenth birthday was approaching, and unbeknownst to Dickon, her Uncle had begun making plans for her future.

In the meantime, they continued to tend to the Secret Garden – blissfully unaware that their time together was coming to an end.

'I have made plans', Lord Craven told Mrs Medlock one morning over his breakfast 'For Miss Lennox to be sent to London to join her Cousin. I have decided that it is for her best interests to be given the opportunity to join society, attain an education, and perhaps catch the eye of a potential suitor.'

'I see sir', Mrs Medlock had replied, an image of the head strong young girl coming to mind immediately. That very morning Mary had refused to wear a new gown which had been purchased for her – a new gown, which would have hidden her scandalously revealed ankles. Personally, Mrs Medlock could think of nothing better than sending the girl away to be 'tamed'. 'She is the bane of my existence, Martha', she had dramatically told the laughing young woman upon a recent visit. 'You have no idea how stubborn she can be.'

'So you see, Medlock, I am going to require your assistance.' Archie had said, thoughtfully sipping his tea. 'She will need to be presented as a Lady upon her arrival, so I am relying on you to make sure that she comes across as one.'

'A Lady, sir?' she had asked with trepidation, all at once hit with a vision of the task that lay in front of her. She couldn't imagine where to begin, Miss Lennox refused to even wear a corset – let alone full length gown, gloves, and a hat!

'I will leave it in your capable hands, Medlock. She will be departing in September. You have two months.'

_Two months!_ The old housekeeper thought to herself. _Two years would scarcely be enough time for such a transformation!_

But all she said was 'very well Sir. As you wish.' before leaving the room, her mind in turmoil over where to begin.

* * *

'Come on, Dickon! We don't have much time!'

Mary's voice rang through the woods, pure and sweet, and Dickon followed it.

The lad was burdened down with a picnic basket, and hamper containing their lunch and a bottle of water. The picnic at the river had been Mary's idea – not that he wasn't happy to go along with it.

The river was located around half an hours walk from Misselthwaite manor, situated deep in the forest. It was a sanctuary for both of them during the hot summer months – when they managed to get a chance to escape their duties and obligations.

Presently they reached the cool flowing water. Dickon paused, to wipe his brow.

Mary strode towards the water, without hesitation, then sat on the edge untying her shoes, so she could dip her feet in the water.

'Mmm... it's lovely. You must try it Dickon, come on.'

He approached her from behind. She was sitting with her back to him, her white summer dress pushed up high to allow her legs to rest in the water. Her long wavy hair flowed down her back, much like the rippling of the water. He paused for a moment to take her in, to capture the vision of her in his mind, then he took a deep breath and hesitantly sat down next to her.

'I cannot bear this heat, Dickon.' she was saying, as she swished her legs through the water. 'I don't know how you manage to work in it.'

'Neither do I sometimes.' he replied, marvelling of the feeling of the cool water against his skin.

'You won't think it terribly bold of me if I went for a swim, would you, Dickon?' she asked playfully. Not that his opinion would have mattered. She would have jumped in whether he thought it was a good idea or not. She was already removing her outer dress. He averted his eyes.

'I don't think Mrs Medlock would approve.' he responded in a casual tone, trying not to look at her.

'Good. I'm glad she wouldn't. My word, what a sour old woman she is. Here Dickon' her arm was outstretched. 'Hold my hand while I climb down the bank.'

He did as he was told, savouring the feel of her hand in his own.

'Oh! Dickon, it's so cold!' she gasped, as she submerged herself in the water, and began to swim downstream. 'But it's so lovely! You simply must try it!'

She stood up in the stream, having reached a shallow part, and her chemise clinging to her body left Dickon in little doubt that she was well on her way to becoming a woman. The wet material of her chemise clung to her curves, and he felt powerless to look away.

'Well, are you coming in or not?' she demanded, once again diving back under the water.

He made his way down the bank, taking off his shirt as he did so, and flinging it on the grass. As he rolled up his trousers he knew without a doubt that he would have a lot of explaining to do when he eventually returned to the manor later that afternoon.

She laughed at him as he edged himself into the water, then once again she dived under and disappeared from view.

He was barely submerged up to his waist when a strong hand from under the water, pulled him down. He lost his footing and fell backwards – and came up spluttering to a laughing young woman.

'Oh Dickon! You should see yourself! you look like a drowned rat! I wish I could have seen your face when you went under!'

'Oh very funny.' he remarked. 'I'll get thee back – when tha' least expects it.'

He splashed her with water, wetting her face, and they both laughed. This in turn caused Mary to splash him, then swim away, and soon he was swimming after her, still laughing. He caught up to her, and grabbed her dress, pulling her towards him, intent on pushing her under the water.

'Dickon!' she yelled, and tried to push him away. His hand found her torso, and he pulled her closer to him, then pushed her under the water. She came up spluttering, her eyes blazing.

'Right! That's it!' she said to him, as he was bent over double laughing. 'Now you're really in trouble.'

Her wet hair clung to her face, making her look like some kind of water sprite. Her eyes blazed with anger, and Dickon felt his heart lurch at her fiery gaze. _My god, I love her. _He thought_. I must come across like some love-sick fool. Was it so wrong to be enjoying this so much? To admire her? Should he not try to act more like a gentleman and avert his eyes? Stay out of the water while she enjoyed her swim? _But as he watched her, he found his will power to be at an all time low.

He savoured the feel of her hands on his body, the flushed look on her face as she tried to grab him, the determined look in her eyes. Time seemed to stand still and the river became their whole world, the sound of the water lapping against the bank peaceful and serene.

'I love it here, Dickon', she said presently, after many attempts of retaliation. They were floating gently with the current, enjoying the cool water against their skin. 'I am so happy you came along with me today.' she paused, as though considering her words, and then said 'even though you spent most of your time trying to push me under.' He watched her as she spoke, savouring the chance to really look at her. She was so beautiful. Pale milky white skin which was usually hidden under a dress, her hair loose just the way he liked it, her eyes sparkling with happiness.

He laughed, feeling light and so happy he wondered if he might just float away. 'Well, tha' can hardly blame me, for tryin!' he laughed. 'Tha' did start it, after all.'

She moved towards him through the water, holding his gaze in her blue eyes.

'Yes, but you were asking for it.'

'No I was not.' he argued, enjoying their debate.

'Oh of course you were, Dickon. Everyone needs a good dunking every now and again! Anyway, you deserved it – especially after what I heard from Sarah.'

'Aye, and what did she have t' say.'

'That you refused to accompany her to the Inn last Friday night, and instead went to bed early! I believe she had to ask somebody else to go with her.'

He remembered her asking him last Friday, and the myriad of reasons he had thought of why he couldn't go. Of course, he couldn't have told her that Mary Lennox was one of them.

'Oh. Well, I was awfully tired.'

'But the funny thing is, ' she said, dropping her voice 'is that I was glad, Dickon. I was glad you didn't go with her. Isn't that strange?'

A flush had crept over her features, he noticed, and the playful smile had disappeared.

'I felt dreadful, as she was so sad the next day – I actually caught her crying, too. But a part of me was relieved that you hadn't gone with her.'

He barely noticed the words that tumbled out of his mouth.

'I wouldn't have gone with her, anyway, Miss Mary.' he paused, wondering if what he was about to say was appropriate, but then said it anyway. 'I don't have any feelings for her.'

'Then who do you have feelings for, Dickon? One of the other maids, perhaps?' there was an undertone of seriousness to her voice.

He swallowed nervously. 'No, none of them, Miss Mary.'

He caught her eye, and saw realisation flicker across her face, and with it, a look of – could it possibly be – relief? But he didn't have time to inquire further, even if he had wanted to. Mary beat him to it.

'Well I'm glad. You wouldn't have half as much time for the Garden if you had a Beau, Dickon.'

'No, of course not.' he agreed, with a small smile.

'Come on then, I'll race you back to the bank.' she said, beginning to move through the water. 'There is a fine picnic waiting for us up there!'

'And the loser gets a dunking!' he laughed. 'Alright then, count me in!'

* * *

'Well Medlock, it's all arranged.' Archibald Craven stated later that night, once a dripping Miss Lennox had been escorted to her chambers. 'Mary will depart in late September.'

'Do I tell her now, Sir.' enquired Mrs Medlock.

'No. I don't think we should tell her of our decision until it is closer to the time. It would only upset her, and Lord knows we can do without that.'

'All the more time for me to make her into a Lady, Sir', the old Housekeeper said, and Lord Craven did not miss the note of sarcasm in her voice. 'Very well then.'

'Its for the best.' Lord Craven said to himself when he was alone once again. 'The girls wild nature needs to be tamed.' He had watched her appear late that afternoon, her hair damp and dress muddy. She had down at the river with the Sowerby boy. It hadn't escaped his notice how the boy had looked at her. Archie knew that look. He knew it well.

The young woman had grown too wild. He had let her do as she pleased for too long. Painfully, she reminded him of someone, someone he had cared about very much - so much that to think of her now was painful.

Yes, he decided. Sending her away would be for the best. He only hoped that one day she would understand... and forgive him for what he was about to do.


	7. Chapter 7

**Well, here we are at the end of 'Summer's almost gone'. If you've made it this far, thanks for reading this story, and providing me with feedback along the way. It's been much appreciated. It feels fantastic to have another story completed, although I will probably go back and do a re-write at some stage just to tidy a few things up. But for now, I hope you enjoy the story, because that's what it's all about! **

* * *

**Summers almost gone: Part 7**

**What we have?**

**September, 1908**

'I won't go! You can't** make **me go!'

The young chambermaid stared in horror mixed with fascination as her young mistress stamped her foot in rage at the old housekeeper.

The fight had broken out over half an hour ago, when it was announced to Miss Lennox that she would be departing for London at the end of the month.

'I'm afraid it's not a matter of what you want, child. The decision has been made for you.' Was the house keeper's sarcastic reply. 'Now, calm yourself down this instant, and begin to act like the lady you're meant to be.'

'Like a lady? That's the last thing I want to be. Ever!' She screamed the last word, punctuating her sentence by sweeping her dresser clear of ornaments. They fell to the floor in a crashing cascade, sending chips of broken china everywhere.

Ignoring her charge, Mrs Medlock turned to the wide eyed chambermaid.

'Sarah, can you please let Cook know that Miss Lennox is indisposed and will not be dining with her Uncle tonight. Mercy forbid he should be witness to such insolent behaviour.'

'Of course Ma'am, I'll go right away.' the young maid replied, bobbing a curtsey, before running from the room, as fast as decorum allowed.

* * *

'Can you believe it? I swear, if she hadn't been sent to see her uncle, I think she would have hit Mrs Medlock.'

The hushed whispers of the chambermaids reference to Mary caught Dickon's attention. He had been absent mindedly eating his dinner while dwelling on the events of the day. He had spent the afternoon in the garden, with Mary, and was already planning what they would be doing the following day. The weather was changing - Autumn had begun, which meant a lot of work in the garden. Not that he minded, of course.

'I wish I could have been there to see it….. I suppose when she heard she was to be sent away, well…..'

'Yes, apparently, all hell broke loose. Just like the beginning, when she first came here, they say.'

Dickon felt his heart grow cold. Surely he had misheard? Mary, being sent away? It couldn't be possible. He turned around to the two young women, giggling at the next table.

'What do you think, Dickon?' Annie Butler said, noticing him staring at them. 'Do you think they will really be able to make her leave?'

'Who?' he said distractedly. 'I don't know what thee is speakin' about?'

'Why, about _Miss Mary Lennox_ leaving for London, of course! Don't tell me tha' hasn't heard?'

'And perhaps with her gone, tha' will have more time for us, won't tha, Dickon?' said her red haired companion, and both of the girls laughed.

'I'm sorry, but I mun go.' He muttered, pushing himself up from the table. His head was swimming, and he felt as though he was going to be sick. Rushing out the door, he breathed in the Autumn twilight, letting the cool wind sweep over his sweating brow, willing his ragged breathing to slow. Leaning up against the stone wall of the house, he felt the first beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. 'It canna be true... ' he whispered, 'it just canna'...'

* * *

He cast his mind back, many years, to when the thin, sickly girl had first come to be at Misselthwaite manor.

She had found him on the Moor, and had approached him shyly. He remembered the day well. He had been leaning against a tree, playing to the animals on his wooden pipe. He had looked up to see a pale, yellow faced girl approach him. He had smiled and spoke to her, and it had not been long before she confided in him about her 'Secret Garden'.

_'Will you come and help me do it?' she had begged. 'I'm sure I can help, too. I can dig and pull up weeds, and do whatever you tell me. Oh! Do come, Dickon!'_

_'I'll come every day if tha' wants me, rain or shine.' he had replied with a grin at the light that shone in her eyes and the wide smile that broke over her face. _

'Oh Mary...' he said softly, as he walked away from the house, and without realising it, towards the Secret Garden.

* * *

The last of summer was fading away, he could feel it as he walked. The sun was disappearing, to be replaced by rain, snow, and the cold wind that whipped over the moors. Summer would go, and Miss Mary with it. With a sinking feeling in his heart, he knew that there was nothing he could do about. Mary would leave for London, and he would remain at Misselthwaite, with only his memories of her to keep him company.

The walk towards the garden was tinged with darkness, the ivy on the stone walls swaying gently in the breeze. He walked down the path, as he had done so many times before, almost daily for the past six years. He had walked this path mainly with happiness, or curiousity, or excitement in his heart – and this was the first time he walked the familiar path with the weight of sadness on his soul.

He pushed open the door of the Secret Garden, wishing he could enter to the smiling face of Miss Mary and her enthusiastic chatter about what they would be doing in the garden that day.

The familiar wilderness greeted his eyes as he entered.

_'I wouldn't want to make it look like a gardener's garden, all clipped an spick an' span, would you?' he had asked her that first day 'It's much nicer like this with things runnin' wild, an' swingin' an' catchin' hold of each other.'_

_'Don't let us make it tidy,' she had answered 'It wouldn't seem like a secret garden if it was tidy.'_

Lost in his memories, he proceeded down the stone steps, passing by the Lilies and Crocuses, and the Roses. He followed the path downwards through the foliage, stepping slowly and tentatively, listening the whole time for any indication that she was there.

And then he saw her. She was sitting on the swing seat, at the far end of the garden – just where he had known she would be. He watched her for a few seconds, still hidden in the shadows of foliage. Her head hung low, and she reached up to wipe her eyes.

_'I mun be strong.'_ he thought. _'I mun be strong and tell her everything will be fine. She needs me t' be strong.'_

He took a deep breath steadied himself, then began to walk towards her.

The End.


End file.
